Half Blind
by Kenta Divina
Summary: Roy survives his worse enemy but is left in an emotional ruin. Riza Hawkeye does what she can, but he refuses to use his alchemy. Knowledge is power, but power is the last thing that he wants now.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Well, it has been a while… What with graduation and job hunting, it just feels unreal that I'm now technically an 'adult.' Of course, that's not going to stop me from writing fan stories when struck with inspiration. Thus, the product for my newest favorite Anime!!!

Warning: To those who have not seen the movie yet, I'll be going into its background. That will come in later chapters.

Half Blind

One of the most horrid smells in the world is the smell of charring blood. Worse still is the scent of inhuman flesh curdling into a mess of black carbon. The thing that had once been the leader of one of the most powerful military forces in the world was now one of the vilest smelling puddles ever created. And he had done it. He had killed the Fuehrer. A short, heartless laugh escaped him.

"Can you kill something that was never truly alive?"

The basement had become the personal hell of Roy Mustang. Flames roared out of his control, the alchemy feeding off of the despair and self-hatred that leaked from behind the carefully maintained internal walls that had held strong for the past decade. The sight of a small, crushed body tossed aside like trash blew a hole in those walls – walls that had been patched over once before with a vow to rise to the top of the corrupted military forces he had determinedly followed.

The fact that he had, in a round-about way, succeeded in his goal to end that corruption weighed little against the death of yet another innocent bystander. The son of the Fuehrer had died at his father's hands full of confusion and hurt. He had seen in that boy's eyes the same betrayal that had blackened his own soul when ordered to execute the Rockbells. The boy had done only what he thought had been the right thing, and was rewarded with murder. Roy had never lifted a gun without a military order after that incident at the hospital, relying primarily upon his talents as a State Alchemist.

Strange, how so many people had fallen into despair while in pursuit of their dreams, and yet he had somehow managed to survive all the pitfalls and seductions that plague every man to arrive at his own. The success did come at a price. Roy stared at the crumpled boy and muttered to himself,

"Is it the law of equal exchange? Did another human life have to be sacrificed to put another un-souled being back into nothingness?" He clenched his fists, torn and exhausted muscles sending internal flames of pain through him.

The fire was eating into the wooden beams overhead. Blistering heat singed the edges of his wounds and embers were threatening to take up residence in his clothes. Ignoring the complaints of his abused body, Roy crouched to gather the small figure into his arms. Catching the grotesquely limp neck in the crook of an elbow, he smiled down at the lifeless face of the six-year-old. He had provided that instant of weakness to defeat the homunculus. Would he have seen his false-father's death as salvation or murder? It no longer mattered.

Roy made for the stairs, frowning at the sudden wave of weakness in his legs. He was losing too much blood. Fire roared up the staircase after him and was gnawing at the top of the basement's door as he reached it. It had been locked from the other side. Clutching the small boy to his chest, Roy drew upon the last reserves of his strength and kicked the door down, a piece of the debris cutting across his brow and letting salty liquid leak into his vision. Panting, he crawled through the heat and smoke into the main hall of the Fuehrer's house. Free of its dungeon birth, the fire continued to expand as Roy stumbled through the building. Twice he caught himself against the walls of the mansion, leaving crimson stains on the whitewash.

Finally he turned a corner and found the entryway. The front door was open. Roy staggered towards the cool night air that beckoned and heaved a sigh of relief as he crossed over the threshold. They were safe…

"Brigadier General Roy Mustang,"

The canned voice made him look up. Dull metal clanking and the whir of hydraulics drew his blurring gaze down the mansion's drive. Some creation was coming out of the darkness. It looked like a man, though miss-proportioned.

"You are a traitor."

Roy tried to raise his left hand with its array still painted in flaking red. A shot rang out and blinding pain in his chest knocked him off of his feet. Before full unconsciousness swept over him, he heard a second gunshot and wondered if he would feel the bullet chase him into the afterlife.

Fire. It had always been a part of him… But now… His veins were full of liquid heat. Everything was white-hot – eyes, skin, even every sound. Roy tried to push away the sheet that bound his body, only to have persistent hands tuck it back in. The creaking of a cart, the slamming of doors, other moans and curses, the beeping of machines, and the sensation of coarse cloth on raw wounds tormented his every instant of awareness even though his eyes were shut. Footsteps approached, the hard leather soles ringing out above the hushed whisper of medical personnel slippers. A cool hand on his forehead provided an instant of relief as a soft female voice slipped through the chaos.

"Sir, I need to tell you about Edward and Alphonse."

The names were enough to force him to open his eyes. The first thing he could see was a cold white ceiling that did nothing to sooth the heat prickling his skin. Roy tried to focus on the warm yellow face near his. Riza Hawkeye was frowning - something he realized that he had missed seeing even though her reasons for doing so were usually upon his behalf.

Searching through his memory, he tried to recall the last information he had heard about the brothers. Riza pushed on,

"They have disappeared. Parliament is moving to take over control of the military and is presently reviewing all our actions. The last we heard, Ed and Al were in the city, but we can't locate them. All of the known homunculus have vanished as well. I'm afraid there is some kind of show-down going on." She tried to smile. "You won't be court marshaled, I know that much. You're too much of a hero."

Roy tried to reply but his mouth felt like it was coated in lint. Riza quickly moved to pour him a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. He tried to sit up to take it from her and hissed at the pull on his torn muscles. Riza shook her head. Using one hand to support his neck, she propped him up enough to take a sip of water without choking. He settled back against the thin pillow with a sigh. His head throbbed horribly, particularly behind his left eye.

"I am no hero." He rasped.

The first lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "You went against orders for the good of the people – you did what the military should have been doing from the beginning."

Roy slit his left eye open to glare at her. "You know that I did it to soothe my own conscience."

She glared back. "I do not believe you and they won't see it as such anyway."

He didn't bother replying, knowing that of all the people left in his small social circle, Riza Hawkeye was probably the only one who could read him like a book. Instead, he plucked at the bandages that crossed his chest. A slashing spike of pain in his head caused him to wince and turn his face into the pillow. Raising his hand to the pain, he clawed the tape from the cuts the Fuhrer had left him.

Riza gasped. The cuts were festering in his face. She rose from the chair that had been pulled up to the cot and shouted for the doctors.

For the next week Roy struggled against the infection. Lapsing in and out of delirium, the Flame Alchemist carried on conversations with old instructors, with Hughes, and even with Edward Elric. He laughed at the brothers in his mind, cried again as he relived the funeral of his best friend, and cursed all those in authority over him as he pulled the trigger on two innocent doctors.

Riza watched over him, cleaning his wounds and doing her best to bring down his persistent fever. She struggled to keep him in the hospital bed during his rampages and sat during all visiting hours until the medical staff drove her off. Even with all the attention, no change occurred in his health. The slashes to his face grew no worse, but they did not improve. His left eye, however, was slowly beginning to dim – the sharp black fading to a blue/gray. The fever finally broke a few days later leaving Roy pale and weak. He opened his eye – the other still covered by a thick bandage and tried to give her his old smirk.

"Ah, my own nurse. Military hospitals have improved."

Riza looked around at the other sick and infirmed around the Flame Alchemist. With narrowed brown eyes, she handed him a glass of fruit juice.

"Sir, I'm afraid that you'll be unable to see out of your left eye. Your infection ran too deep for the doctors to do anything about it."

He was silent for a long moment then reached up to peel the bandaging from his face. Riza stoically held the duel colored gaze of her commanding officer. He blinked rapidly, frowning.

"This will take some getting used to." He squinted. "It's like peering through thick fog."

Riza picked up the bandages and gently rewrapped his head. "If you strain it, you'll do more damage than what has already been done." She fell silent until Roy tugged questioningly on the sleeve of her jacket. She stood and formally saluted him.

"Sir, I apologize."

He sighed at her formality. "Apologize? What for?"

"For not arriving at the mansion faster than I did."

Roy rolled his good eye. "Don't be stupid. I asked you to take care of distracting the others while I dealt with the homunculus. You did just that." He waved her away. "I'm tired…"

Before she could respond, he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Riza wrinkled her nose at his pale face. The next morning, in full dress uniform, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye marched into the intensive care ward and wheeled Roy Mustang, still in his medical bed, out into a waiting car. One nurse attempted to intercede and found she looking down the barrel of a cold pistol. As she did, Roy turned his face towards the sun and laughed,

"Ah, dear Riza, come to rescue the fallen. Nurse to the hero."

Riza holstered her weapon and glared down at him. "Don't ask for favor from me, sir. I don't trust the doctors."

Roy hissed in pain when she hauled him upright while moving him from the bed to the back of her car. The shock drew him out of the haze he had been swimming in and he tried to pull the sheet with him to preserve his dignity in the hospital gown. He was partially successful but was fairly certain he gave the gaping nurses in the hospital doorway a bit of a show. As Riza helped him into the back seat of her car, he said dryly,

"I was in there for a reason you know."

"Not anymore." Riza carefully withdrew the medical tubing from his arm. "Now I am going to be your keeper."

Roy smirked. "Sounds…"

Before he could finish that thought, Riza had gently but firmly pushed him into the back seat and shut the car door.

"Men!" She muttered to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: My thanks to those who reviewed! Funny how I've missed those little emails in my mailbox. I also apologize for the long time between updates. Work really sucks the energy out of me. Add to that, my computer has a glitch and turns itself off at will.

Half Blind Chapter 2

Riza managed to carefully maneuver her senior officer into her spare bedroom. Black Hayate had nearly tripped the two of them as they crossed the living room with his joyful antics, but was presently sulking outside the back door after she had soundly smacked his tail with her hat. If Roy had had enough breath to laugh, he would have. Instead, it was all he could do to keep from groaning in agony as each movement pulled at the delicate stitches that were holding him together.

He hissed as he slowly sat on the edge of the mattress. "I really was in there for a reason… I'm just having trouble remembering why."

Riza walked over to the closet and pulled out two extra pillows to prop behind his shoulders. "You were in there for treatment and the quality of that treatment was unacceptable."

She made a mental check to restock her first aid kit and carefully drew a blanket over her commander's legs. She was also going to have to find him some real cloths. The paper hospital gown was not going to last much longer.

Roy smirked as she bent over his weakened form and gathered enough strength to reach up and flick one of the metals dangling from the front of her dress uniform. "Are you going to wear that every time you come in here?"

She only frowned. "You're too ill to be picking on my choice of dress, sir."

"I'm still a general for the next twenty-four hours. Ill or not, I think I deserve some respect."

"You put yourself in the hospital as a civilian. That puts things on an even rank." She pulled the bottle of painkillers she had swiped on the way out of the medical ward on the table next to him. Fetching a glass of water from the bathroom, she handed him a pill.

Roy took the medication without argument. His head fell back into the soft pillows with a deep sigh, "The things I do for my country."

He missed the small smile on her face as he drifted off to sleep. Slipping out of the room, she shut the door and began to unbutton her dress coat. A knock at the front door interrupted her. She shot a look around her small kitchen and living room which doubled as a dining room and made sure that her quarters were still as neat and orderly as she had left them that morning. Black Hayate barked at the back door but she ignored him as she briskly walked to the door, re-buttoning her jacket on the way.

"First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye," The enlisted man on her threshold saluted. "You are ordered to appear at Headquarters immediately."

Riza straightened her shoulders and returned his salute. "I will be there presently."

The man frowned. "I am to escort you there personally."

She raised an eyebrow, "I see…" She turned and fetched her hat and opened the back door to Hayate. Casting a concerned glance in the direction of her sleeping commander, she followed the ensign out to the waiting car.

A few hours later, one black eye slowly opened. The attempt to open both eyes made Roy groan. It was strange to now view the world with such a lop-sided perspective. His bandages were itching but when he tried to twist his arm to scratch his shoulder, the pain lancing through his torso quickly erased the minor discomfort of an itch. He really had taken a beating from the Fuehrer. Being moved so abruptly by Riza was probably beneficial in the long term, but presently his sickness-ridden body took the change quite harshly. Nausea swept over the Flame Alchemist and he had to swallow repeatedly for a moment to keep from throwing up. A whine on the floor next to the bed made him drape a hand over the mattress edge.

"At least she didn't leave me alone."

Black Hayate whined again, eagerly licking the offered fingers of one of his favorite humans. He sat within Roy's limited reach so that he could rub his head. Roy obliged with a light chuckle.

Taking in the space around him, Roy's gaze fell upon a photo set upon a small dresser. It was the only decoration in the cheery yellow room and was of Roy's closest conspirators in a rare moment of social relaxation. His chest knotted at the sight of Hughes grinning his irritatingly confident smirk as he stared at the cards he held opposite a frustrated looking Havoc. He had been caught in a moment of contemplation, looking out of a window while Armstrong was busy dazzling all the others with a display of biceps, triceps, and the like. Riza had been reading a book, tucked into a corner overshadowed by all the activity around her. Roy wondered who could have taken the picture at such a moment and smiled to himself at the perfect candidness of the shot.

It wasn't long before he became bored. With morbid fascination he began picking at his bandages, wrinkling his nose at the sight of his angry, red wounds. The stitches holding his muscles together reminded him of thorns or the freakish fingers of the homunculus Envy. He shuddered weakly and put his self-examination on hold.

Listening eagerly for the return of his lieutenant, Roy started to clean his fingernails, wondering what could be taking her so long… And he was starting to get hungry. His stomach chose that moment to rumble, reminding him of the dozen times Edward Elric would stomp back to the HQ cafeteria with his brother and stuff himself silly. There were always complaints from the staff following his visits, but Roy couldn't really begrudge him at least one simple pleasure in his tragedy-tending life. It didn't deter Roy from making remarks on Ed's appetite in relation to his small stature.

The Elric brothers... Roy's mind summed up all the knowledge he had on the two boys. They were only children, the age when their most important pursuit should have only been arguing over who had the right to take that lovely blond-haired friend of theirs out to dinner. Instead Fate threw them a curve ball so twisted that the two teenagers were practically living life in reverse. They had no time, no inclination to simply stay home and make the best of their situation. Instead the two plunged headlong into the adult world and facing the fears of death and the unknown afterlife before they had even really begun living. Yet they never hesitated.

Perhaps that was what went wrong, Roy mused. He couldn't help but to admire their stubborn focus to 'fix' one another. They never considered failure an option. Roy had seen it time and time again in person and in the reports given to him by his trusted staff. He had envied their drive and devotion. He had envied their never-ending energy in their quest and their unnerving intuition into the ways of humanity.

Envy, one of the Seven sins.

Pride, a second sin.

Both an undeniable part of the nature of Roy Mustang. He ran over the last couple of days before his stay in the hospital in his head. So much of it had been based on reaction. It had been unlike him to fly off the handle like that, ordering a mutiny, facing off with the Fuehrer on Ed's word… The outcome was successful in all his endeavors, but what about the secondary damage to his people? To those dependent on a strong military presence – corrupted or not?

Roy groaned to himself. He needed Hughes. He needed assurances that the faith of all those under his command that he had held like gambling cards were still redeemable.

When Riza returned from the grilling that the preliminary court had given her, she found her commander on his side in the bed, back to the doorway. Gently shutting the front door with a worried frown, she pulled off her uniform jacket and started to approach him. A strange shudder through his body made her pause before walking to the kitchen. Making a bit more noise than was necessary, the lieutenant set about warming a can of chicken soup – a timeless cure-all. Black Hayate sat eagerly next to his food bowl, tail thumping. Riza sighed and gave him his dinner before washing her hands and set a tray for the motionless figure in the spare bedroom.

Gently tapping the doorjamb with her foot, she said, "Sir, you need to eat something."

Roy slowly rolled over and looked up at her with a falsely bright smile. "Ah, thank you. I must have dozed off."

Riza ignored the faint redness around his eyes and set the tray and a kitchen chair next to the bed. Gingerly helping him sit upright with a few hisses and grunts of pain, she set the chair in front of him. "It isn't much, but I'm sure it's better than hospital food."

Roy skipped the spoon and sipped straight from the bowl. "I could care less if it were a chimera in gravy at this point. Smells divine – Did they keep you this whole time?"

Drawing another chair from the kitchen, Riza swirled her spoon in the chicken broth before answering. "They kept me for the majority of it. Major Armstrong and the others were also questioned, and then they in turn asked me about you. They heard about the unexpected 'release' of the Brigadier General Mustang."

"For which I'll be eternally grateful."

Riza fiddled with her spoon for a moment in silence. Roy slurped away patiently, knowing she'd get to her point in as few words as she could formulate.

"I told them about your eye."

He blinked in mid-slurp.

"They were a bit shocked. I reassured them that you are recovering well outside of the hospital." Riza's brown eyes focused somewhere deep in her soup bowl.

Roy set his own down on the nearby chair and covered his good eye. Nothing but a dark gray haze crossed his vision. His right eye was just as focused as it had ever been, but depth perception would need to be practiced, particularly with his alchemy. He shrugged.

"War wounds."

Riza frowned, "No sir."

Roy fished one last piece of chicken out of his bowl and popped it into his mouth. "What do you mean, 'No sir'?" He asked while chewing.

"No sir, it was not just a war wound. I had seen how the doctors and nurses were overwhelmed. I've had some basic training in first aid and infections like yours should have been caught long before it became life-threatening."

"Like you said, they were overwhelmed."

"I should have gotten you out of there earlier."

Genuinely surprised, Roy almost laughed except that Riza looked genuinely guilty. Instead he shook his head and replied, "Then I should have killed the Fuehrer in one blow."

A sudden knocking at the front door made them both jump. Another enlisted messenger stood in salute when Riza opened the door. He handed her an envelope, snapped off a second salute, and left without a word.

Riza opened the letter. Roy knew something important was in the notice by the tension in her back. She turned to look at him, wide-eyed.

"They found Alphonse. He's human again."

Roy felt his depression lift.

"But they haven't found Edward. They're declaring him AWOL with a sub-line that he is most likely deceased."

The depression settled back in and made itself at home.

Author's Note:

Bleh… this chapter is not really what I wanted. However, thank you reviewers! I wanted to post every 2 weeks, but reality puts a damper on my fantasy. Oh, and I may be going to Japan next year and teach English! How cool is that?


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: My style keeps changing on this story. I think I'm finally getting a feel for it and might go back to the beginning and rewrite.

Half Blind Chapter 3

Roy lay in bed for two days in relative silence following the news about the brothers. Though he would never confess it out loud, he had cherished the mixed affection between his position as their commander and role as odd friend/protector. Riza began interspersing her work days with hours of her stockpiled vacation time in concern over his depression. She arrived at the office at nine in the morning instead of seven, and finished her reports no later than five. Lunch took an entire hour, occationally an hour and fifteen minutes while she darted home and made sure Roy was comfortable. Roy knew that her sudden change in routine would be feeding the rumor mill at headquarters, but she thankfully, kept her comments to herself.

He was also conscious of the fact that she worried about his uncharacteristic behavior but couldn't bring himself to tell her why he still considered himself a failure. The report that the Parliament requested sat half-finished on the bedside table. It held only the facts that he knew first-hand. Riza would fill in the finer details and embellishments, as she always did. It was full of informational holes that he managed to patch over with fabrication and assumptions but under expert scrutiny would collapse. He knew why. Hughes had played such a vial role in his climb to the top of the military food chain and took hundreds of secrets with him when he died.

How he missed that man. He even missed the constant nagging for him to settle down (preferably with a nice, civilized and strong-willed lady) and start a family. Roy had known that Hughes was concerned that he balanced his obsession with culture. Hughes had somehow managed a home life with the darkness of the corrupt military world. It was what gave the deceptively relaxed man his edge. Roy recalled one conversation they had held late one night at the office when Roy had snapped off a rather rude comment about Hughes' wife. He had been frustrated at his friend's reluctance to reveal the information the Flame Alchemist had requested. In the heat of a moment, Roy accused Hughes of letting his marriage turn him soft.

Maes Hughes blinked once, eyes hooding in cold anger. "Gracia has no part in this."

Not caring about the violation of their unspoken agreement of separating private and professional lives, Roy had snorted derisively, "You've been putting off your responsibilities lately. You've been going home early, taking longer trips, and she's nearly all you talk about for months now."

With a clatter, the chair Hughes had been sitting in tipped onto its back. He took three impossibly fast steps towards his commander and glared straight into his eyes, the hazel tinting of his own eyes shifting almost to gold.

"We fight a dirty battle, Mustang. You, of all people, need to remember that. I swore to back you in this fight, but that does not mean that I'll let it drag me down with it. Don't question how I chose to divide my time. She gives me one more large reason to push on against all odds." He smirked, "In fact, I think you should actually thank her."

Shamefaced, Roy couldn't return his friend's sarcastic smile. He noticed the clenched fists at Hughes' sides, the stress lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and was struck with the realization that this job was killing his friend a little each month, just as it was killing him.

Since his marriage, Hughes had increased his verbal teasing and double-talk tenfold. His research and reports had been much more precise, and his overall energy had doubled. She had done that for him.

For a long time that night the two had stood in that office in silence. Hughes was poised a foot away from his best friend, restraining himself from punching the alchemist while Roy was forced to restructure their entire partnership in his head. He finally returned Hughes' burning gaze and said humbly,

"I apologize."

Hughes had simply given him a sharp nod and given him the report Roy had been asking for. It had been the first and last time their personal lives were used as weapons against one another.

Roy could sit up without pain now. A doctor had been visiting the house every couple of days to check his eye and the wounds. Each time he left, he gave Riza a small shake of his head and he knew she had been asking about the possibility of ever seeing out of that left eye. He'd taken to wearing a black patch over the smoky grayness of the iris. The irony of it did not escape him but when he tried to crack a joke to Riza that he'd become more like the Fuehrer than ever, she had locked herself in the bathroom for an hour.

He frequently stared out onto the street, contemplating at how very little he actually knew about the world he watched first-hand. He knew the struggles it took to maintain the charming civilization beyond the windowsill, he knew the deaths and injustices done in the name of improvement – he had witnessed them with both his eyes and the snap of his fingers. But faced with the results of those promises left Roy with a strange sense of emptiness.

A little girl was eagerly tugging at the hand of her mother. He'd seen them before, and knew that there was a bakery a few blocks away where she would get a honey bun. In another hour or so, they would pass back in front of the window, sticky faced and smiling. They were a piece of how the world ought to be.

Had it all been in some perverse way, completely pointless? If governmental armies never marched on the weak, would the weak have never known this harmony? They had carried banners of truth, justice, and equality, but in their own way, didn't every tribal community have those elements in the beginning? Was peace bought at the price of blood true peace?

The door to the house scraped open. Riza shuffled through bearing bags of groceries. Her eyes met his through the bedroom threshold, and she gave him a quick smile with the shadow of worry that had been dogging her every action as of late. This time he managed to return her smile and felt a pang of guilt at the lightening of her features.

"You're home early." He scratched the back of his head.

Riza set her bags down on the table and pulled off her uniform coat. Roy silently approved of her more casual attitude as her button-down shirt stretched in just the right places. Too bad she kept wrapped up in her job so much – figuratively and literally. The thud of a heavy metal can broke his musings.

"I came back early because it is about time you had a real bath."

Roy frowned and tried to sniff under his arms. He hadn't noticed himself emanating any horrible body odor. Riza only lifted an eyebrow at him and continued sorting out the weeks food supply.

"I thought the sponge baths were doing fairly well."

"You still are getting ripe. You need to be washed head to toe." She wrinkled her nose. "My house is starting to smell like a man's, not mine."

Roy couldn't help smirking. "I've had some women compliment my natural aroma."

She didn't even bother turning around from placing milk in the fridge. "They don't live with it, and it isn't mixed in with the smell of medicine and gun oil."

Roy had taken to cleaning and polishing Riza's collection of pistols while she went to the office. He had to admit that she had some lovely pieces, particularly one gold-plated, pearl-inlaid derringer. She had twenty in all, and fully functional, tucked away in a trunk in her second bedroom.

With a sigh, he carefully swung both legs over the edge of the bed. Gingerly pulling the pajama top over his head, he hissed at the tugging on the new scars. As the material passed over his face, he caught a stronger whiff of his personal scent. Sheepishly he had to admit that it had been quite a while since he'd been able to take a real bath.

"Let me get the tub ready first, then I'll help you into the bath room."

"Are you going to stay?"

"Sir…"

He tested the little-used muscles of his legs to ignore the tone in her voice. "I'm just wondering how I'll get from the washing to the bathing."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out, sir, and it will not involve my intervention."

"Will you stop calling me sir?"

"No sir."

Roy frowned. "Why not?"

Riza gave him an exasperated look. "One of us needs to keep reminding you that this is not vacation time."

He seriously doubted he would forget that any time while he lay flat on his back. If this were vacation time he'd have someone _else_ flat on their back.

The sound of running water sent Black Hayate yipping under Roy's bed. He couldn't help laughing at the dog's fear of being the victim of Riza's hygiene patrol. Riza emerged from the bathroom barefooted, wearing cotton pants and a simple grey t-shirt. Throwing his left arm around her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around his waist and smoothly hauled him to his feet. It was rather unnerving to have a person half his size manhandling his weakened self about. Riza frowned at his shakiness.

"We need to see about getting you some physical therapy."

Roy tightened his hold around her shoulders and dropped his voice to seduction level. "I have a good idea for one."

"I will drop you and let you crawl to the tub." She continued helping him towards the bathroom.

He grinned.

The trial of bathing was moderate. Riza left him with all the necessities within reach and gave him leave to call her only in case of an emergency. Any temptation of abusing the 'emergency' status was cut short with the threat of eating only chicken broth for the next week. He was sick of chicken soup – soup being the only real safe food he could eat with the state of his insides. She had promised to start him on some well-cooked solids soon, so he dutifully soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed himself down… alone.

The cuts were still pink and tender but healing nicely. Roy gingerly swiped over the lines crossing his arms and shoulders. After soaking for a while in the tub, he decided it might be better not to cook his healing body too much and cautiously hauled himself out with a messy splash. He eyed the wet floor ruefully, but knew that if he dared to get on his knees to clean up the mess, he'd probably not be able to get back up on his own. He'd have to find a way to repay Riza for his sloppiness later. Changed into fresh clothing and muscles loosened by the hot water, Roy managed to get himself into the kitchen without calling for help.

Riza started when she turned from the stove to retrieve some food item from the fridge and found him leaning heavily against the table.

"You were right, I did need a good bath."

She frowned. "You don't need to push yourself so hard. I'll bet you'll be flat on your back for the next three days and the council that is investigating the death of the Fuehrer is starting to push for a formal trial."

Roy slid into a chair and ran a hand through his wet hair. "Ah well, perhaps I'll be able to put it off for a little longer if I'm still wracked with pain."

Riza rolled her eyes and continued with her task of cleaning two fresh fish she had bought at market. Roy watched her, chin propped on one hand, soaking up the atmosphere of domesticity. He found himself a bit surprised at the ease in which the lieutenant moved through the kitchen. She handled pots and pans with the same ease as she used her rifle.

"Sir, you don't have to sit there and wait on the food. I'll bring it over as soon as it's ready." Riza began washing potatoes. "You shouldn't push yourself."

"I'm fine." Roy ignored the ache in his back. "It feels good to be out of that room for a while."

"I changed the sheets while you were in the bath." She set the potatoes to boil. "And I fed Hayate – so no feeding him scraps. You're making him fat."

The former general shrugged. "Stop calling me 'sir' and I may abide by the house rules."

He smiled internally at the irritated look she gave him. He'd missed the banter they'd shared over trivial things – mostly the lack of enthusiasm he showed towards his paperwork. The energy restored by the hot water of his bath made poking fun at her irresistible.

"Riza Hawkeye… I suppose it makes sense that your name fit your profession."

"We've been over that particular joke a hundred times, sir."

"There you go with the 'sir' again!"

With a clang and splash of hot water, Riza dropped the cooked potatoes in front of Roy. She placed a large fork in a bowl next to them and said, "If you're healthy enough to be eating and mouthing off, then you are healthy enough to start helping around the house. Make the mashed potatoes." She paused before adding for good measure, "Sir."

"I can mouth off, but on what?" Roy grinned perversely. He picked up the fork and dutifully began breaking up the steaming tubers.

Riza slapped the knife she had been using to filet the fish against the counter top. "And you must be healthy enough for me to safely threaten you with a bullet to an extremity."

"Aw, but I'm finally on the mend!"

She slid the fish into the oven and set a timer. Shutting the door, she turned and looked at the man steadily beating on potatoes. His arm was getting tired, but he doggedly continued until the lumps were nearly completely gone. With a sigh of satisfaction, he sat back and pushed the bowl across the table towards Riza.

"My task is complete."

The buzzer on the oven went off and what Roy regarded as a heavenly aroma filled the air when the oven door opened.

"Please tell me it's done."

Riza deftly slid the pan out of the heat and set it on the counter. Prodding the flaky white filets, she nodded to herself. Forgetting himself, Roy sprang to his feet… or tried to. Instead he took one exuberant step in her direction and crumbled as his little-used legs tried to keep up. The fish flew into the air as Riza dove to catch him. He hardly noticed, seeing only the first solid meal he'd had in weeks tumble to its doom.

"Noooo!"

"Roy! Sir, are you all right?"

He blinked, face to face with a concerned Riza Hawkeye. Arms around him, she gave him a quick look-over to be sure he hadn't seriously injured himself in the fall, and then her brown eyes narrowed.

"Sir, that was foolish."

Roy swore that he was near tears, "The fish… The fish…"

"If you hadn't tried to get up, we'd be eating them right now. Instead," she sighed, "it looks like Hayate may get it."

Despite the acute disappointment over the loss of his dinner, Roy asked, "Fish bones?"

"You insult my cooking skills – I'm and expert at boning fish. We still have the potatoes, which might be better than fish for you right now." Riza began pulling him carefully to his feet. "Let's get you back to bed."

"I'm fine!" Roy detached himself from her support and pointedly, albeit slowly, made his way back to the bedroom. He shot a smirk at her in the doorway. "Care you join me?"

Riza opened her mouth to retort and was interrupted by a knock at the door. For a moment she stood unmoving, torn between answering the caller or making sure Roy made it to the bed. He waved her away. Sighing, Riza took a desperate look around the messy kitchen and threw her hands up into the air. When she opened the door, the great bulk of Major Louis Armstrong greeted her.

"Lieutenant." He gave her a salute.

"Sir!" She stood at attention.

The great hands of the Strong Arm Alchemist were clenched in huge fists. "How is the General?"

Roy, who had managed to sit straight-backed on the rumpled bedclothes, spoke up, "I'm doing well. What news do you bring?"

The brilliant blue eyes of his comrade focused on the clean hardwood floor. "I am here to tell you of your sentence."

Author's Note:

SORRY for the long wait. Between work, applications, and Christmas my time got very away from me. I also had a little trouble figuring out where I was going with the plot. Thank you, all my reviewers!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Half Blind Chapter 4

Roy stared grimly at the Strong Arm Alchemist.

"That was quick. I would have thought that they would have at least wanted to tell me their decision to my face."

The massive figure of his friend added to the weight of the message he was about to deliver and the combination made the room shrink. Riza shut the door behind Armstrong and silently offered him a chair. In full dress uniform, metals clinking on his broad chest, the Major sat down.

"General," Armstrong paused, "After quick deliberation by Parliament, it has been decided that you, Roy Mustang, are to be stripped of all rank."

After a moment's pause, Riza frowned, "How could they sentence him without putting him on the stand? He hasn't even sent in his statement."

Roy ignored his lieutenant's outburst and fixed his good eye on the metals winking merrily over the heart of one of his best friends. "What of those who followed my orders?"

Armstrong's voice was flat. "They will be reprimanded, an official notice placed in their files, and allowed to continue service if they choose. Should they choose to withdraw from the military, they may do so but without ceremony."

Riza leaned against the wall of Roy's bedroom. "Parliament clearly wants this all over with as quickly and quietly as they can. They don't even want a martyr. By letting R..." She caught herself. "Mustang, go without trial, the people have no one to blame, they only have a situation that has already been rectified before they even knew how bad it had been."

Roy shook his head and smiled dryly. "Parliament will take the criticism of the people to draw less attention to the conspiracies of the Fuehrer." He touched the patch over his damaged eye. "It will be ugly, but over quickly. I can't say that I can hold it against them."

"Sir, you will let them sacrifice everything you have worked for to let politicians sleep better at night?"

His grin showed more teeth than humor. "They won't be sleeping well with so many events still needing explanation. And you forget that a number of State Alchemists are still missing – key alchemists to the truth of how far the corruption ran, and how much so many have sacrificed to bring the truth to light." Roy turned to Armstrong. "Major, I have a favor to ask of you."

The huge frame of the Strong Arm Alchemist leapt to attention from the chair. "Yes sir!"

"I have no authority to request this, but would you gather all the paperwork the Elric brothers left behind and bring it to me. There will most likely be some hint as to where those two have disappeared to and I want to be sure that only friends will find an answer."

The seemingly perpetual glimmer that surrounded the Major had dimmed with the heavy news he had carried into the room. Now it sprang back with all its irritating glory. He saluted sharply. "I'll have it sent over immediately." With a second salute to Hawkeye, he sparkled out the door.

She turned to Roy. "You will not dispute the Parliament?"

Picking up the final draft of his personal statement, he slowly tore it in half. "No."

Cool brown eyes swept over the ridged figure on the bed. Roy answered the unspoken second question. "You knew that when we put on those civilian cloths that we were crossing all the lines and breaking all the rules. A court martial is the lightest sentence they could have given us – all of us. If Parliament has seen the necessity of our unorthodox methods and not gone after the others, then pinning all the blame on me is as close to forgiveness that the government can give in return." He smiled. "I have my sparkling reputation to back me up."

"What of leading the military? What about cleaning this place up?"

He scratched at one of the scars on his side. "I think we did a fair job of that already."

The pair sat in silence, the bright sunshine streaming in from the window contradicting the heavy atmosphere. Roy's fingers plucked at the hem of his pajama sleeve, mind churning through all the facts. A small noise from the doorway had him turning in mild surprise. Riza was watching him with a strange half-smile. Self-consciously he raised an eyebrow at her.

"It is good to see you back in action, sir."

He snorted, "Action? I'm not even able to leave the house yet."

Riza returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess of spilled fish and dish up the potatoes left on the stove. Roy pulled himself out of bed and started walking. Gritting his teeth against the strain on his softened muscles and the pull of skin against his healing scars. A soft voice interrupted his painful meditation.

"Sir, you should build up your endurance or you'll do more damage."

He turned his head to look at her and found that he had turned his blind side to the door. In a fit of frustration, he yanked the bandage from his left eye and threw it to the ground.

"What good am I like this?" He pressed a hand to the unseeing eye. "My reputation is gone, my men have black marks on their records and will never be reassigned to me even if I do regain rank, and we have defeated the homunculus. There is nothing left."

The sharp sound of skin hitting skin had Roy reeling back onto the bed. His hand slid down to a reddened cheek. Riza stood over him, eyes blazing.

"Sir, with all due respect, get a grip. You will recover and whether you choose to re-enter the military or not, there is always a need for good men like you in an imperfect world."

Roy stared at her and wondered at his fortune that even while he cursed the results of actions and orders, he was given a reminder of _why_. Hughes had been there to take the whiskey out of his hand the night he almost created a monster. He had been there to steady him the day he had been ordered to commit murder. Riza had protected his back countless times. Her steady hands and mind had kept him focused beyond the petty conspiracies required to climb the ladder. They had done it for him because they had faith in his mission. Even with no mission, Riza stood steadfast and he was sure Hughes would have been standing next to her, pictures in hand and sharp amber eyes lecturing.

Hands on her hips, Riza sighed, "Sir, you've reopened your wounds."

He looked down at his legs. The loose blue pants he had changed in to after bathing were showing dots of crimson along the cuts on his thighs. Riza pulled out fresh bandages and handed them to him. Trying to reassure her, he half-heartedly smirked and asked, "Don't you want to change them yourself?"

She threw the tube of antibiotic ointment at him and it hit him in the chest. "Let me know if you need any help."

Before she could move back to the kitchen, he managed to catch her fingers. He noticed for the first time that her hair had been pulled back in an elastic band and dangled down her neck.

He swallowed at the innocent look, "Riza… I never thanked you for all of this."

She gently squeezed his hand. "You are always welcome."

Attempting to pull away, she blinked when he tugged her closer to the bed. He carefully wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed the side of his face against her hip. She was warm and soft, smelling of something floral with traces of gun smoke. Roy closed his eyes and tightened his hold when he felt her hands smooth over his hair. Exhaustion swept over him and he wanted nothing more than to simply fall asleep wrapped up in the security that was Riza. Her small hands untangled his arms and pressed him firmly onto his back. The sound of cutting made him crack his good eye open. She was turning his long cotton pants into a pair of shorts to reach the stinging wounds. He said nothing as she dabbed the blood away from the strained stitches on his legs, lifting first one, then the other as she carefully tended each cut.

"I was going to see if the sutures could be removed tomorrow, but by the looks of it, if you're going to start walking, we may want to leave them in."

Roy only made a noise of agreement.

"Roy," Her hands stilled. "What are you going to do?"

He sighed and stared at the ceiling. "For now, we need to find out what happened to the Elric brothers. There are questions that only they can answer. After that…" he let the answer fade.

When Riza stretched out her left arm to set the bandages on the bedside table he caught the familiar angry pink of a new scar. Catching hold of her wrist, he pushed back the sleeve of her gray shirt to examine the puckered line of a bullet graze that cut across the outside of her bicep.

"When did you get this?"

"Before I shot Frank Archer, there was a bit of a fire fight over the Fuehrer's family."

Angry over the fact that he had never noticed her injury during his stay, he pushed back the waves of tiredness and propped himself up on his elbows. Pain blossomed along his arms and shoulder, but he grit his teeth. Alarmed, Riza half stood and crouched over him. He reached up and clutched at her shoulders, pulling her down on to the bed with him. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he held on despite her stiffening and automatic attempts to withdraw.

"Riza, I am sorry." As much as he tried to fight them, tears were stinging his eyes and he could only hid them in the shoulder before him. "I never asked you to follow me on that night. I took you for granted and I should never have done that."

He felt the shake of her head. "Sir… Roy, you should know by now that I have chosen to follow you far past any official reasoning. I swore to follow you no matter what, and that I'd protect your back. I am only sorry that I wasn't there sooner."

Her wound was on his blind side. He traced the line with his fingertips and let his grip relax, embarrassed that he had latched on to her so desperately twice in one day. Riza only smiled when he abruptly pulled back.

"If you are feeling better, perhaps tomorrow you can come with me to the market."

He only nodded, unable to look her in the eye.

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for the long delay. I was distracted by a new interest in the anime BLEACH and have been up to my eyeballs in planning to go to Japan in just over a month. To say the least, I'm a bit stressed. I do have a direction to go on with this story and I fully intend to finish it. Reviews help!


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